Stray Dog (The Black Stars Rise Remix)
by black.k.kat
Summary: There comes a point when enough is on the line that fear stops being an option. Shuuhei refuses to believe that his hero, the man who saved his life, would throw away everything so carelessly, and goes looking for answers. Eventually, he finds Urahara Kisuke.


**Rating: **T-ish (?)

**Warnings: For c**anon divergence, Kazeshini's mouth, Urahara's fairly inappropriate sense of humor.

**Word Count: **~2600

**Pairings: **None currently, will be slash (possibly Renji/Shuuhei?) in the future.

**Summary: **There comes a point when enough is on the line that fear stops being an option. Shuuhei refuses to believe that his hero, the man who saved his life, would throw away everything so carelessly, and goes looking for answers. Eventually, he finds Urahara Kisuke.

**Disclaimer: **I don't hold the copyrights, I didn't create them, and I make no profit from this.

**Notes: **Yes, yes, I'm supposed to be working on _Encore_ and _not broke _AND _Down the rivers_, but this stupid plot bunny latched onto my ankle sometime last night and has refused to let go. So. This is a remix of my one-shot _Hold_, insofar as it features Shuuhei in Karakura and him eventually meeting Ichigo. Otherwise it's being overhauled. Still: remix, whee!

(I've got this vague idea revisiting a bunch of my old prompts [which can be found under my** Drown Me In Blue** account here on ffn, and are with few exceptions badly written and ridiculous], so I'd be interested to hear which ones you'd prefer I look over. No promises, but I'll see what I can do.)

(Also, in regards to the title, I know it's generally Renji who gets the stray dog metaphors/symbolism, but it fit so perfectly in this situation that I couldn't resist.)

* * *

_**Stray Dog**_

_**(The Black Stars Rise Remix)**_

It's always there in the back of Shuuhei's mind, even as he's promoted through the ranks, even as he rises and makes something of himself, the Rukongai brat who failed the entrance exam three times but became a model shinigami nevertheless.

_Strange_, he thinks, pausing in the doorway of the Ninth. _Strange that such a man, a powerful and at peace with himself, would do such a thing. _

He knows the story, of course, knows what officially happened that night, but can't quite make himself accept it. He's always had a problem with hero worship, after all, and this is simply an extension of it, a manifestation. It's impossible to believe the worst of the man who saved his life, who looked at him and _saw_ and tried to smile, no matter how unfamiliar the expression was.

Shuuhei admires Captain Tousen, respects him, but there's this creeping sort of doubt in the most private of his thoughts. Now, in the doorway of his office, newly made a lieutenant, Shuuhei hesitates. _Captain Tousen is good, wise, but…_

_But what about Captain Muguruma? What about the man who saved me?_

_But what about Captain Tousen, who was his fifth seat?_

There is laughter in his head, sharp and biting, and Shuuhei stills. He's heard that voice before, endured it since the first time he gained his zanpakuto. Kazeshini sets him on edge, twists his head and heart around because he's not supposed to be a killer, and Kazeshini looks very much like a killer's favorite weapon.

But while he's scoffed at Shuuhei before, mocked him and belittled him and drawled sarcastic—if amusing, though Shuuhei will never admit it—observations about those they meet, he's never openly laughed at Shuuhei before.

'_Kazeshini?' _Shuuhei asks tentatively.

There's a tug, like someone pulling at a thread attached to his mind, and Shuuhei obeys the call, closing his eyes as he focuses inward.

Kazeshini is waiting for him in his inner world, standing in the middle of a flat plain covered in dead-gold grass, a grim-grey sky above them. The spirit himself is tense, every muscle strung taut, and Shuuhei can see the fury simmering just below the surface.

"The bastard's _rotten_," he snarls as Shuuhei steps closer, and a storm-wind shrieks across the prairie. "He was out with Muguruma when something happened, yeah? He talks about justice and then he talks about fear. You survived the Rukongai. You know what I mean. All those petty dictators and little lords—they thought fear led to justice, too."

"He's the captain," Shuuhei counters, but it lacks the conviction it might once have had. Rather than justification, the words are a breath of disbelief, of weary resignation and sadness and a deeply buried edge of outrage, that Captain Tousen could so easily dismiss them—dismiss _him_—and walk away. Shuuhei has given the Ninth Division _everything_. He's spent days, weeks, _months_ trying his best to be a passable lieutenant, to balance a workload nearly triple his former one, to keep his head down and his eyes forward and his questions to himself. The Ninth has become his entire life, every waking moment spent in his office or in meetings or seeking answers about the man who gave Shuuhei a purpose, but then vanished into dishonor, along with so many—a suspiciously large number—of his fellow captains and lieutenants.

And Tousen Kaname is still capable of dismissing his careful questions as inanities, wastes of time that amount to nothing and are not worth answering.

Kazeshini scoffs, though, and perhaps they've both become blind to each other, because rather than understanding the tone behind Shuuhei's words, the spirit spits, "Like that means anything at all. He looks at us like we're _weak._ They're hypocrites, all of them! They see us as weaklings, but we're strong enough to _terrify_ them if we used our full strength!"

The wind is razor-edged now, fierce and deadly as it slices through the grasses, but Shuuhei stands against it with the ease of much practice as he watches his zanpakuto spirit pace jerkily, angrily.

"If we get any stronger, they're just going to fear us more," he ventures after a moment, because he's not the only one who fears his zanpakuto. He'll never forget bringing it out in a zanjutsu class and seeing the trainer himself recoil from it.

But…as inspiring as Tousen's words were, that day when Shuuhei was so very close to giving up completely, they are no longer _enough_. Not in light of the questions that are still hovering, unanswered, at the back of Shuuhei's mind.

Not when, more than anything, Shuuhei is so utterly tired of being afraid of his sword. Being afraid of _himself_.

Kazeshini snarls, spinning to face him as the wind-shrieks turn to tearing screams, to howls. "SO WHAT?" he bellows. "They already fucking fear us! The Rukongai brat who can beat out the heirs of the noble houses—we're _terrifying_. What _difference_ will any of it make?" He takes a step forward, another, and maybe once Shuuhei would have backed away, but not now. Not here. Not after everything that's changed and all the damned things that have stayed the same.

He's so tired of being afraid. So very tired.

The spirit's eyes suddenly narrow, as though he's realizing something, and he stops. He goes entirely, eerily still for a long moment, then he chuckles. "Ah," he says with an air of enlightenment. "I see."

A step to the side and he starts to circle, ghosting around Shuuhei, whose heart is pounding just a little too hard to let him move. He's used to being scared of Kazeshini, but this is something entirely different.

Then Kazeshini stops again, watching him with a gaze that's far too sharp for comfort, and murmurs, "You know, there are shinigami who fight without their zanpakuto, Shuuhei. Shihoin, for one. Never draws her blade, just improves her speed and strength until she's damned near unbeatable. You could do the same, couldn't you? If you wanted, you could have ditched me a long time ago. Back in the Academy, even. You're strong, that much is obvious. I'm here, after all. And if you really wanted me gone, if you hated me that much…"

He reaches out, hand empty of any weapon, and this is something new. They've never touched before, never even attempted it, and Shuuhei braces himself as though for a blow.

But it's just a hand, just slender fingers as rough and calloused as his own, closing over his upper arm as Kazeshini moves even closer. He says nothing more, because it's as good as a question, the way he left his statement hanging.

It's a secret, though. A secret that Shuuhei's kept even from this innermost piece of himself, because admitting it is a betrayal of everything Tousen stands for, everything Shuuhei clung to after he was abandoned and betrayed by the memory of a hero who was never even remotely his to begin with.

"I don't," he says, whisper-quiet, and the wind falls away to nothing around them. He ducks his head, lets his spiky hair shield his face, and laughs a little at himself. "I don't hate you, Kazeshini. I never have. Why do you think I practiced so much, can use you so easily? But you scare me. You're made to take life when I've only ever wanted to preserve it, and sometimes I can't see that there's ever going to be an in-between for us to meet at."

The silence stretches out like strands of hair-thin glass, brittle and breakable. There's no sign of change, no movement in the land or clouds. The entire world is holding its breath.

Then Kazeshini says, softer and calmer than Shuuhei's ever heard from him before, "You're a moron. That's _respect_, you asshole, not _fear_. Only a completely green _idiot_ or a megalomaniac wouldn't fear his own power to _some_ degree. You're a shinigami, Shuuhei, a guardian of the borders between life and death. Of _course_ I look like something made to take lives; that's part of your duty, isn't it? We take souls and let them move on, send them forward to be reincarnated. Even the Hollows we kill end up back in the cycle. How is that a bad thing?"

It's not, not in the least, and Shuuhei is a little horrified that he's never thought of it that way before. He sighs, then huffs out a soft laugh and rakes a hand through his hair. Kazeshini is watching him when he lifts his head, somewhere between wary and relieved and pissed, but that's mostly normal.

"Tousen isn't everything," Shuuhei offers softly. "He's said a lot of good things, and he's done a lot of good, but there's more to who we are than his philosophies."

Kazeshini favors him with a sharp-edged smile, and says, "We've always thought so. Probably time to show everyone else."

They've been asking awkward questions, after all. Shuuhei survived the Rukongai for years, more than long enough to know that the people with those kinds of questions are always the first ones to disappear.

He's not willing to believe that Muguruma Kensei became a Hollow, played with forbidden powers, and agreed to let Urahara Kisuke experiment on him so that he could grow stronger. Perhaps he's being naïve, perhaps it's that blind hero worship again, but Shuuhei knows his own mind, and nothing but solid proof will convince him otherwise.

* * *

Kisuke stares down at his friend's son for a long moment, indecision tearing at him. He knows what has to be done, knows that he's already laid his plans and set the first domino tumbling, but it's hard. The boy is so obscenely _young_, would be even if Kisuke was merely the age he appeared rather than the centuries he actually is. What he's planning is an actual crime—endangerment of a minor—and for all that he's never cared overmuch about such things, this is…

There's no trace of foreign reiatsu in the air. It's more the feel of the night's calm than anything that has Kisuke turning his head and saying with lightness he doesn't feel, "I'm surprised, Stray Dog-kun. You didn't step in and save the day."

There's a long pause, even though Kisuke knows he didn't get it wrong. Then a dark shape drops from above, landing in a crouch on the wet pavement and pushing to its feet. It's a man, tall and lean, dressed in dark jeans and a sleeveless coat that is equal parts black leather and deep green cloth, with a deep hood pulled over his face. There are bands around his biceps and silver rings around the fingers of one hand, and a sword strapped across his back. Kisuke studies him from under the brim of his hat, taking in the edgy posture, the tension in lean muscles, but says nothing.

Another pause, briefer than the last, and the man sighs softly, stepping forward and crouching down to look at the unconscious boy. "I thought you'd be happy," he says, and the low voice is ever so slightly bitter. "No interference, right? Look where that's gotten us."

"Right on schedule, regardless of a few…improvisations," Kisuke points out evenly, burying his doubts.

"You're going to turn him into a _Vizard_," the stranger growls. "Urahara-san, this whole thing is a disaster waiting to happen. You're betting everything on being cleverer than Aizen, but I _know_ he'll have plans that you'll never expect. What happened the first time—"

Kisuke carefully keeps his voice airy. "—is something I am far more familiar with than you, Stray Dog-kun. However, I have been considering your proposal carefully, and I think it is…acceptable."

There's a huffed sigh, and the man settles back on his heels. "Thank fuck. I thought you were going to be stubborn about this."

For a moment, Kisuke considers sticking his tongue out at the younger man, but considering the boy bleeding out in front of them, perhaps now's not the best time. Instead, he tilts his umbrella and makes a shooing motion with one hand. "Come, come, make yourself useful, Stray Dog-kun. You can carry the boy back to the shop if you're so concerned about him."

The man sighs at him again, but carefully gathers Kurosaki Ichigo into his arms and stands easily, despite the boy weighing just about as much as he does. "I'm not doing it for him," he says flatly, regardless of his gentle grip. "It's to get justice for what Aizen, Tousen, and Ichimaru did to the captains and lieutenants."

Kisuke falls into step beside him as they head for the shop, and thoughtfully angles the umbrella to cover all three of them. "Of course, of course," he says brightly, casting a sideways look at his companion. Between the gloom of the rain and the shadow of the hood he can just make out a few locks of black hair weighted down with water, the high arch of a cheekbone, and the shape of one slanted eye. "I take it the others are well?"

"Fine," the man huffs. "Unobservant as hell, but fine. I managed to get all the way into their base while they were sleeping without triggering the alarms or the wards. If Aizen's managed to make any Vizards on his own, they'll be screwed."

With a hum, Kisuke simultaneously acknowledges the point and changes the subject. He dwells on Aizen and his actions far too much as it is. "I take it you still haven't—"

"No. Stop asking. The captain doesn't need to know."

"I just think—"

"_No._"

And the brat has the audacity to call _him_ stubborn.


End file.
